


Hell Or High Water

by SwingGirlAtHeart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode AU: s15e18 Despair, Grief/Mourning, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Reunion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwingGirlAtHeart/pseuds/SwingGirlAtHeart
Summary: Dean keeps his gaze on the shadows.  “He told me he loved me.”Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, but says nothing, waiting for Dean to continue.  Dean turns around, confused by Sam’s lack of response.  Sam is watching him sympathetically, expecting more details, and there’s no trace of surprise on his face.“You knew?”At this, Sam does look surprised.  “You didn’t?”Dean lets out a long breath, trying to stave off the ache in his chest, and looks back up at the sky.  “I guess not.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 49
Kudos: 745





	1. Draw Your Swords

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be the one chapter, but the show kept giving me things to fix, so here we are.

It’s not until Cas is gone that Dean feels the pain. With silence ringing in his ears and his heart thudding against his ribs, the edges of his vision begin to fade. Panic is setting in. It’s cold and hot and shaking and searing and Dean can feel it gripping him from the inside. His fingertips scrape against the concrete floor, his back pressed against the wall as he desperately tries to ground himself.

_I love you._

The words echo in his head, over and over, louder and louder, until it’s all Dean can hear. It’s not the first time Cas has said it, but this was so different from before.

The back of Dean’s head is buzzing so badly that it takes him a minute to realize that his cell phone is vibrating in his pocket. He fumbles to pull it out with numb fingers and sees Sam’s name on the screen.

He can’t answer it. If he answers, he’ll have to tell Sam what just happened and that will make it all real. And it’s not real – it can’t be. Nothing is real right now, not even the concrete underneath him. Dean lets the phone clatter to the floor and cradles his head in his hands and he _cries_.

 _I love you_.

The last time Cas died, burning out of his vessel with an angel blade sticking out from his chest, it was over in an instant. They didn’t get to say goodbye. Cas didn’t even have time to realize what happened. Somehow, this is so much worse.

Suddenly Dean is hyperventilating, gasping for air until his hands tingle with oxygen. Cas is gone. And Dean cannot reconcile that – or anything Cas said in the moments before – with the life he was living up until a few minutes ago.

 _I love you_.

Why didn’t he just say it back? Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, he knew what was happening and what Cas wanted to hear before the end. Guilt claws at Dean’s skull. Cas sacrificed himself and Dean couldn’t even say it back just to say it. He froze. He did nothing. He let Cas die.

Somewhere in the haze of all of this is the knowledge that he couldn’t have won against the Empty or Billie, let alone both of them, but all Dean can think is that it’s his fault for not acting quickly enough. Or decisively enough. Or violently enough. He’s lost Cas so many times before; how could he have let it happen again?

Dean cries until he can’t any more, and then sits there for even longer. Minutes and hours tick by, but Dean can’t bring himself to move, to go forward from this spot. He’s not willing to entertain even the idea that his life no longer has Castiel in it. His phone rings over and over, vibrating and skidding across the floor. Missed calls pile up on the screen.

Eventually, Sam and Jack return and find Dean, and the onslaught of questions begins. Questions that Dean can’t even begin to answer, that choke him from the deepest recesses of his chest. Jack is distraught – “What do you _mean_ , he’s gone?!” – and Sam doesn’t understand, knowing something is missing from Dean’s story.

 _I love you_.

The reality of Cas’s death is starting to sink in, and Dean finds himself at the table in the library with no memory of walking there. Sam must have dragged him there, out of the dungeon where Cas disappeared – died – was _killed_. Dean blinks and there’s a cold beer on the table in front of him, but he can’t touch it when all he feels is nausea. Sam is sitting next to him, a strong hand solidly on Dean’s shoulder, but Dean can’t hear anything he’s saying. Or maybe he’s not saying anything. Dean doesn’t know one way or the other. He feels lost in a way that he’s never felt before, even on his worst days.

 _I love you_.

“I love you, too.”

The confession jumps from Dean’s chest, barely a whisper said to nobody in particular, a deathly delayed response. He feels a shock ripple through his body as he realizes that it’s true. Sam looks at him askance.

By the time Dean is present enough for Sam to explain that _everybody_ is gone, Dean’s not even surprised. _Everybody_ is too many losses for Dean to wrap his head around, and it still feels comparatively minor.

Jack has disappeared into the bunker archives, frantically tearing through every text the Men of Letters ever compiled, but Dean doesn’t believe he’ll find anything. Sam remains in the library, combing through the books there in search of a straw to grasp while staying close enough to keep an eye on Dean. In the evening it’s quiet. The ringing has finally faded from Dean’s ears and the only thing he can hear is Sam turning a page every few minutes.

He watches Sam methodically sift through the texts, mouthing words to himself as he reads, and feels a surge of anger. Sam lost Eileen, too. And Donna. And Charlie. And _everybody_ else. But he’s not even taking a second to sit and feel the pain. He’s ignoring it, and that pisses Dean off.

Without thinking, he stands up and walks out, heading up the stairs and out of the bunker, and ignores Sam calling his name.

The heavy bunker door slams shut behind him and the cool night air fills his lungs. He pauses halfway up the steps to the road, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The stars glitter indifferently overhead, the half-bare trees creak in the breeze, and the world actually _feels_ empty.

Almost immediately, the anger falls away from Dean’s shoulders. He knows Sam is trying to find a solution, which is a lot more helpful than what Dean’s doing. There’s no reason to be angry, except at Cas for dying and at himself for letting it happen.

Dean climbs the rest of the steps and, lacking anywhere else to sit, he sinks onto the slope of grass a few feet away from the door. The bunker edifice looms behind him, solid and dark and unapproachable. Dean breathes deeply, intentionally.

The bunker door opens again and Sam steps out, looking around for a moment in concern before spotting Dean on the slope. He takes a step forward but doesn’t come too close, seeming unsure of whether his decision to come after Dean was a wise one.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks.

“I just needed a minute.” It’s the first thing he’s actually said out loud in hours. He rests his elbows on his knees, feeling gooseflesh course over his skin in the chill.

Sam lets out a long breath, then comes over and sits beside him. “Dean, what happened?”

“I told you, the Empty took him.”

“You said that, but it doesn’t make sense. Why would the Empty take him? Right then, at that moment? And doesn’t the Empty have to be summoned?”

Every question feels like a stab in Dean’s stomach, and his jaw clenches. He looks away from Sam, down the road into the darkness. He can feel his body wanting to cry – the ache in the back of his throat and the burning in his eyes – but he’s tapped out.

Sam waits, and without looking at him Dean has no idea if Sam feels guilty for pressing. After a few minutes, Sam asks again, “What happened?” The question is gentler this time. It hurts more.

_I love you._

Dean keeps his gaze on the shadows. “He told me he loved me.”

Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, but says nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. Dean turns around, confused by Sam’s lack of response. Sam is watching him sympathetically, expecting more details, and there’s no trace of surprise on his face.

“You knew?”

At this, Sam does look surprised. “You didn’t?”

Dean lets out a long breath, trying to stave off the ache in his chest, and looks back up at the sky. “I guess not.”

Sam is quiet again, digesting this new information. Dean can practically hear the gears in Sam’s head spinning away. He’s struggling to figure out how to put his thoughts into words, and all Dean wants is for Sam to either hurry up and say what he has to say or go back inside and leave Dean in the dark.

Finally, Sam speaks. He rubs his palms on his jeans nervously, not knowing how to talk about _this_ with Dean. Or he thinks Dean isn’t ready to talk about it (he’s right). Every word is hesitant, stammered.

“Look, Dean… I know you’re trying to sort through a lot right now. Whether you – whether you feel the same way or not, or if you don’t know yet, that’s… that’s okay. But I know what Cas means to you, and I know you don’t want to leave him in the Empty.” Sam clears his throat and he puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come back inside. Help us find a way to get him back.”

Dean feels cold suddenly – not on his skin but inside, all the way down to his core. “You know there’s no way to get him back,” he says. “Billie’s gone too. Chuck’s the only one left and even if he wanted to help, he doesn’t have sway with the Empty.”

Sam doesn’t seem bothered by the obstacles, and shrugs instead. “When has that ever stopped us?”

Drawing one final deep breath of the crisp night air, Dean nods at last. Sam is right. And Cas didn’t just say _I love you_ – he also said _I’ve got you_. Had it been Dean pulled into the Empty, he knows Cas would tear through whole dimensions to get Dean back. Billie is gone, which means that Death isn’t coming after them. And God is already after them, so what’s one more cosmic battle added to the pile?

He cracks a tiny, lopsided smile. “You know, Billie called me ‘human disorder incarnate’.”

Sam snorts. “That’s accurate.”

* * *

They do eventually find something – or rather, more than one thing. It takes a day and a half with no sleep, no showers, and very little food. Dean feels more than a little useless, barely able to concentrate on the books. His mind keeps wandering back to the dungeon, back to Cas strong-arming him out of the way and back to Cas’s face as the Empty pulled him into the black. So unsurprisingly, Sam and Jack are the ones who find the solution.

Two spells, buried deep in the dusty, decaying archives of the Men of Letters tomes. Jack has the brilliant idea of researching Dreamwalker lore, since Kaia was the one to open the portal to the Bad Place, and he finds a spell that will temporarily give him the ability to Dreamwalk like she did. Sam finds an ancient ritual in Enochian for turning a person into an archangel Sword, a true vessel, therefore amplifying the archangel’s power. Jack is almost vibrating with relief and excitement as he says they now have a real shot at retrieving Castiel.

A glimmer of hope surges in Dean’s stomach, but he tries desperately to tamp it down. He can’t forget the risks, nor can he ignore all the reasons this plan may not work. They want to give Jack Dreamwalker abilities, but Dean knows all too well that that kind of magic – even temporary magic – comes with a price. Not to mention, Dreamwalking is meant for peering into other worlds, but the Empty _isn’t_ a world and Dean can’t quite let go of the idea that the spell won’t be able to reach that far.

Jack shakes his head. “I’ve reached into the Empty myself before. I’m sure I can do it.”

And as for giving Jack his own Sword, there’s no precedent. Jack is not an archangel. There is no rulebook for nephilims, or for turning the body a nephilim already has into a Sword. The ritual could go smoothly and this time tomorrow Cas might be back like nothing had happened, sipping beer at the table in the library. Or it could have unforeseen consequences, and Jack could explode from the sheer amount of power he’ll be taking in, combining archangel grace with a true vessel, Dreamwalking, _and_ the powers he already has. Jack is arguably the most powerful creature on the planet, but Dean’s not sure that’s enough to handle it, and he keeps imagining Jack burning up like an overloaded circuit.

In any case, Dean knows that if Jack dies, he won’t be able to cope with that loss. Not along with everything else. So he supposes it’s good that God is after them, because if it doesn’t work they’ll all die anyway.

This dangerous cocktail of spells is a Hail Mary, and Dean knows it, but he’s willing to try anything. He begins collecting the ingredients for Sam.

* * *

By the time they’re ready to begin the spells, Dean and Sam have been awake for at least forty-eight hours. Sam forces Jack to sleep, insisting he needs to be at full strength to do this, and Dean doesn’t disagree. So while they wait for Jack to rest and recharge, Dean and Sam remain in the library. Dean is relieved when Sam doesn’t press for any more information about Cas’s final minutes. Instead, Sam only suggests that Dean get some sleep too.

Dean refuses. “No, I won’t be able to sleep. Might as well stay here.”

Sam doesn’t argue, giving Dean the leeway he needs, and says, “I’ll stay with you, then.”

They both end up dozing, however, slouching with their heads resting on their arms on the library table. It’s not deep or restful, but it does help.

Eventually, Jack comes back into the library and wakes them up, announcing that he’s ready. Sam stands, digging the heel of his hand into his eyes and yanking his hair away from his face. Dean senses a newfound wave of dread swirling in the pit of his stomach; he’s suddenly sure this plan won’t work.

They perform the Enochian ritual first. Sam takes a spare cauldron that Rowena gave him as a joke for his last birthday and, over a fire outside the bunker entrance, melts down an angel blade _and_ the only archangel blade they have. Adding a handful of other things – various herbs and roots with supposedly magical properties – Sam recites something in Enochian that Dean doesn’t understand. The sun is setting, the sky overhead streaked with pink and orange.

As Jack slices the palm of his hand and lets his blood drip into the boiling vat, Dean paces.

With the addition of Jack’s blood, the cauldron spits and sparks and makes the three of them flinch. “Your turn, Jack,” Sam says, though he’s eyeing the cauldron to make sure it doesn’t do anything else unexpected.

Jack swallows and steps up, clearing his throat before he too says something in Enochian. It’s shorter than Sam’s long-winded chanting, and after only a few words the mixture in the cauldron turns a frightening shade of gold. Sam ladles a few scoops into a mug from the kitchen, careful not to burn himself, and hands it to Jack.

There’s only a moment of hesitation before Jack tilts his head back and swallows the mug’s contents in one swig. He makes a face, gritting his teeth as it works its way down his esophagus.

“You okay?” Dean asks, praying to anything other than God that this doesn’t kill Jack.

“Yes,” Jack says with a wince and steam coming out of his mouth. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Only a moment later, Jack lets out an agonized yell and his body convulses, blinding golden light bursting from his eyes and nose and mouth.

“Jack!” Sam shouts. He and Dean grab Jack before he can fall to the ground, but they can do nothing except hope that Jack survives.

The pain only seems to last a few moments, however. The light fades and leaves Jack breathing hard with his eyes still glowing amber. The cut on his hand is already gone.

Dean grips Jack’s upper arm. “Still with us?” His voice is clipped and shaking, betraying how scared he really is.

Jack nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I think it worked.”

Sam sighs in relief and pulls Jack to his feet, giving him a quick, clapping hug around the shoulders. “Do you need some time before we do the other spell?”

Jack shakes his head, the glow finally fading from his eyes. “No. No, the sooner the better.”

They head back into the bunker, since the second spell doesn’t require the use of an open fire. While Sam and Jack are getting ready, Dean sneaks into the kitchen and downs two shots of whiskey. His hand is shaking as he holds the glass. He stands there for a minute to allow time for the alcohol to circulate before he returns to join Sam and Jack in the library.

Sam gives him a look, like he knows what Dean was just doing. Rather than lecture Dean about his drinking, Sam merely hands the spell book to Jack.

They have the ingredients in a burn-proof bowl this time, on the end of the library table, and this time Jack won’t have to eat them. Which is kind of a pity, because this particular concoction seems much more edible. Yarrow root, dried blackberry leaves, pure unprocessed honey, sprigs of greenbriar and sage and rosemary, and just a few grams of ground peyote.

“Really?” Dean asks about the peyote. “He’s going to be stoned?”

Sam scratches the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to open up his mind, I guess.”

“Dean, relax,” Jack says, in an oddly parental tone.

There’s no incantations to be said for this spell; instead, according to Sam, it’s a _nonverbal intention_ that’s supposed to make it work. Jack closes his eyes, looking for a moment as though he’s praying, and then he lights the bowl himself.

It’s strongly fragrant, and abruptly the air in the library is heavily perfumed, sweet and herbal. In any other context, it would make Dean hungry. Now, it makes him sick.

Jack leans over the bowl and slowly inhales the smoke, taking it deep into his lungs. When he opens his eyes, they’re bright gold again. He straightens, and as he exhales the veins around his eyes begin to glow, spreading outwards until there’s a virtual spider web of light stretched over his face.

Sam is watching Jack with more than a little worry. “How do you feel?”

Jack turns slowly to look back at Sam, the glowing veins spreading further down his neck, and a half-vacant smile crosses his mouth. “Like I can do anything,” he replies softly.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Sam says, though he doesn’t look relieved.

Jack circles around Sam and approaches the wall of the library, a blank brick space lacking in shelves or wall decor. The glow in his veins is now shining through his clothing, lighting up his back, flowing down to his fingertips. He clenches his fists, raises his arms… 

…and he rips the air apart.

A roaring, gaping black hole appears in the wall, and Dean nearly vomits from the pulse of sheer _energy_ that blasts through the room. Unearthly howls of pain pour out of the wound as the Empty screams from the deepest recess of the cosmos. The bunker shakes, dust falling from the ceiling.

And then it’s over as quickly as it began. Jack reaches into the void and vanishes, the black hole collapsing after him. The library goes silent, leaving Sam and Dean’s ears ringing. The only thing left is a silken thread of light hovering over the brick wall where the hole had been, a rift between the Earth and the Empty beyond.

Dean stares at the portal, and it takes everything in him to not take a running leap and follow after Jack. But he knows that there’s no way in this or any other dimension that the Empty would ever let him back out.

“What now?” he asks instead.

Sam walks unsteadily over to the library table and sits, like he doesn’t trust himself to remain upright. “Now we wait.”

* * *

The first thing Castiel sees when he wakes is a pair of glowing yellow eyes, and he jumps when he realizes that Jack is standing in front of him. “I wasn’t aware I could dream in the Empty,” Cas says to himself, more shocked that he’s experiencing some semblance of consciousness rather than at the sight of Jack being here with him.

“You’re not dreaming,” says Jack. “I’m here to take you home.”

Cas is confused, not sure he believes Jack. The last thing he remembers is being in the dungeon with Dean before the Empty claimed him, but for all Cas knows it might have been a few minutes ago, or thousands of years may have already passed in the blink of an eye.

What convinces him that he is, in fact, awake is not Jack, but rather the black surrounding them. Castiel can feel the Empty pressing against every molecule in his body, ancient fury washing over him and making it hard to breathe. He can sense billions upon billions upon billions of souls in every direction, pressing up close and yet still lightyears away. It’s all terrifyingly real.

The realization that the Winchesters had _again_ figured out some way around the natural barriers between dimensions, between life and death, slams into Cas with tangible force. He shakes his head, feeling his heart about to break. “Oh, Jack,” he says. “What have you done?”

Jack reaches out, grabs Cas’s hand. “You know we couldn’t leave you here.”

When Jack starts to pull Cas along with him, Cas yanks his hand away. “Jack, you have to leave. Before the Empty finds you. I made a deal, and I accept the consequences. Go!”

Before Jack can argue, a body materializes behind him, oozing out of the black and taking shape until a second Castiel is standing there with a sinister, trembling grin.

“You have _got_ to be _KIDDING_ me!” the Empty squeals in Cas’s own distorted voice. “Ohh, I am so, so tired of dealing with you, Castiel. You are a _filthy_ anomaly.” The maniacal smile drips away. “You broke your promise.”

Cas shakes his head, desperate to get Jack out of here before the Empty claims him too. “No! No, I didn’t. I went with you willingly. I was prepared for forever. I didn’t ask to be rescued.”

The body changes then, turning black and amorphous for a moment before taking Duma’s face. “Two days and forever are hardly the same thing,” it snarls, its voice now high-pitched and tinkling.

“Please,” Cas begs, stepping forward to put himself between the Empty and Jack. “I’ll tell them to leave me here. I’ll hold up my end of the deal, I swear.”

“Cas, no—” Jack tries to protest.

The Empty screeches, the sound piercing through them like the noise of a sun exploding. Its form shifts again, brown hair melting into yellow until Claire’s face appears. Her eyes are sparkling like distant stars, cold and unfeeling and ready to burn him to a crisp.

“No,” the Empty seethes through clicking teeth. “I’ve decided. I want nothing to do with you ever again. I already have Death and _you_ are the only one keeping me awake. I give up.” Its voice drops to a shaking, furious whisper. “Like an infection, I will _cut you out._ ”

Cas shakes his head again, unwilling to back down from his oath. Whatever the Empty means, it has to be worse than his current punishment. “If you send me back to Earth, I will still come back to you eventually,” Cas pleads, hoping to convince the Empty to keep him. “When I die, millenia from now, I will come back.”

The Empty looms closer, Claire’s face flickering against the black underneath. “ _No, you will not_ ,” it hisses. “There is only one way to ensure I never have to hear from you again. I’ll force you to go somewhere else.”

Cas blanches. “Hell?” he asks. It’s the only thing he can think of that’s worse – nearly endless pain and torture rather than an eternity of nothingness – but Hell will only delay his return to the Empty, not prevent it.

The Empty morphs again, and Dean suddenly appears where Claire had been standing a second ago. Cas jerks backward a step in shock.

“Even if you go to Hell, you’ll still come back.” Dean’s voice oozes out of the Empty, a rumbling, starving snarl, and it’s the worst thing Cas has ever heard. “You are a cockroach. I need to cut off your head.”

Jack moves to defend Cas, but in less than an instant the Empty swings its arm up and slices into Cas’s neck. Blood sprays, and Cas doesn’t even have time to gasp.

“ _NO!_ ” Jack shrieks, grabbing Cas’s arm and trying to pull him away.

The Empty has a savage, unhinged smile plastered across Dean’s face as it reaches for Cas’s bleeding neck and pulls his grace out through his throat. Cas’s mouth opens wide as he tries to scream, feeling the grace being ripped from every cell in his vessel. It _burns_ , from his skin down to the very atoms that make him. He suddenly realizes that he’s dying – really, truly _dying_ in the human sense. Jack catches him before he falls, crying his name and trying to keep him awake.

Holding Cas’s grace glowing in its hand, a lantern against the blackness, the Empty crushes it into nothingness. The angelic glow disappears and dust pours from the Empty’s palm.

With one last horrible smile, Dean’s face finally disappears and Meg takes his place. The Empty laughs in Meg’s voice now, musically, somehow melodic and screeching at the same time. “Finally,” it squeaks, practically dancing from foot to foot. “Peace! I will have peace.”

Jack is desperately trying to keep him upright, but Cas sags against him. He can feel blood – plain, non-angelic blood – pouring down his front. He feels _tired_. He’s ready to go back to sleep.

“You see, without your grace, you’re just an _ape_.” Meg’s face taunts him, but he doesn’t care anymore. “A human. And when humans die, they don’t wake up. They don’t come _here_.”

Jack doesn’t wait for the Empty to keep talking and instead drags Cas away. With one of Cas’s arms looped over his shoulders, Jack half-carries him all the way to the portal. Cas has no idea how far they’ve gone, if it’s been seconds or minutes or even hours by the time they reach the rift, but they burst through the portal and the black rolls away into light.

The last thing Cas can hear is the Empty’s wailing, screeching peals of laughter echoing after them as the portal closes. A different kind of blackness rushes up from below, ushered in by the blood flowing freely out of Cas’s wound, and Cas sinks into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean and Sam wait in the library for what seems like an absolute eternity. The minutes tick by, until Dean is sure it’s been hours. Sam drums his fingers nervously on the table, and Dean can’t stop his leg from bouncing incessantly on the floor.

Finally, Dean slaps his hand lightly on the tabletop and announces he’s getting a drink from the kitchen. He stands and asks if Sam wants one too.

“Really, Dean?” Sam sighs. “You really think now is the time?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If now _isn’t_ the time, I don’t know when is,” he snaps.

Sam opens his mouth to retort – probably some judgemental comment about Dean being an alcoholic – but before he can say anything the rift flickers and hisses, making noise for the first time since Jack left. Dean tenses, alcohol forgotten, and Sam lurches to his feet.

A blinding flash of light erupts from the rift, and suddenly Jack and Cas burst out of nothingness, falling hard onto the bunker floor. The rift fizzles and dies behind them.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, _lunging_ for the two of them, but Jack immediately throws up his hand and yells for Dean to stop. Sam grabs Dean’s arm.

It’s only then that Dean sees that Cas is bleeding – _profusely_ bleeding. There’s a huge gash in his throat and a red puddle already forming underneath him. His coat and shirt are stained red nearly down to his waist. He gasps for air once, twice, and then his eyes roll back in his head and his body goes limp.

“NO!” Dean yells, once again launching toward where Jack is now crouched over Castiel.

Sam stops him, forcibly grabbing Dean around the shoulders. “Dean! Wait!”

Jack is concentrating, his hands once again beginning to glow along the veins and in the fingertips. He places his index and middle fingers in the center of Cas’s forehead, and his other palm over the gaping wound. Light pours from Jack’s hands, washing over Cas’s head and neck.

Dean watches with his heart in his throat and nausea tugging at his gut.

Jack grits his teeth and closes his eyes, bowing his head. His palm presses down on Cas’s bloody neck and finally, little tendrils of light stretch from Jack’s hands into Castiel’s skin, coursing over the wound like vines. The light seeps into Cas’s body and disappears.

At last, Jack sits back on his heels and draws his hands away. The gash in Castiel’s throat is gone, but the blood still stains his clothes and the floor beneath him. And it’s _so_ much blood. Cas doesn’t move.

Dean swallows, not even daring to breathe as the three of them wait.

Nothing happens.

After a much-too-long silence, Jack tugs his hands through his hair, tears leaving tracks down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “The Empty got him before I could—” He chokes, unable to finish the sentence.

Dean steps back, turning away from the sight of Castiel in a pool of quickly-drying blood. Fury surges in his veins. Another battle lost. He seizes a chair from the library table and throws it against the wall, where it splits and hits the ground with a deafening clatter.

“Dean—” Sam starts, about to try and comfort his brother, but he’s cut off.

Castiel convulses on the floor, gasping for air with a hoarse yell. The three of them jump as Cas is wracked by coughs, turning over onto his side and hacking onto the floor.

Dean doesn’t stop to think and pushes straight past Sam, dropping to his knees. He’s got a hand on either side of Castiel’s head, cupping his face as Cas tries to catch his breath. “Cas, you’re okay,” Dean says. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

“Dean,” Cas rasps before dissolving into another cough.

Dean doesn’t even notice Jack and Sam smiling in relief that Cas is alive, and simply pulls Cas into a hug. When he draws back, Cas smiles at him, and Dean can barely believe how lucky they’ve just been. Dean leans forward again and presses his forehead to Cas’s, his hand on the back of Cas’s neck. It’s only a few inches, but it feels like the greatest distance Dean has ever crossed.

* * *

The next day, once they’ve all had a good sleep, Dean finds himself in the kitchen eating breakfast by himself. For once, he’s not loading up on bacon and greasy foods, instead having only a cheese omelet and black coffee. He can’t explain it, but for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s not going to die soon.

A rustling behind him makes him turn around to see Cas standing in the doorway. He’s wearing only a too-big t-shirt and sweatpants, rumpled from sleep. Dean has to work to suppress a snort but manages to instead offer Cas some coffee.

“Thank you,” says Cas, pouring himself a mug. “Remind me to thank Sam for lending me these sleep clothes.”

“Yeah, your other ones were a little bloody,” Dean remarks as Cas sits across from him at the breakfast table.

Cas sleepily takes a long sip of his coffee, rubbing his fingers at the new bags under his eyes. “I’m not used to having to sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well, it has been a while since you had to do that.”

Cas watches him over the rim of his coffee cup. “How are you doing?”

Dean clears his throat, chewing his eggs for a little too long. He forces a shrug. “Chuck’s still after us, but other than that, I’m good,” he says, falsely light. “Just glad to have you back, man.”

Cas waits for a moment to see if Dean will add anything else, then gently states, “We should talk, Dean.”

Sighing, Dean nods, knowing there’s no point in ignoring it. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

Dean does insist on finishing his eggs and coffee, but once he’s done and Cas has changed into some more appropriate clothing, they head for the door. Sam is unsurprisingly sitting at the library table with a book, searching for anything that might help defend them against Chuck. He looks up when Dean and Cas walk through.

“I’ll meet you up there,” Dean says, and Cas nods and continues up the stairs and out of the bunker.

Sam looks at Dean, trying and failing to hide a grin. “What are you two up to?”

“We’re just going for a drive, okay?” Dean retorts flatly, annoyed.

“Uh-huh.”

Dean can’t _quite_ make eye contact with Sam. “Yeah, we… we need to talk. Figure out some stuff.”

Sam leans back in his chair, not even trying to hide his grin anymore. “Oh, is that what kids are calling it these days?”

Dean glares at Sam, wholly unamused.

“Too soon?” Sam asks.

Rather than snarking back, Dean only rolls his eyes and goes to follow Cas up to the entrance.

“Make good choices!” Sam calls as Dean reaches the landing.

“Shut the hell up!” Dean lets the door slam shut behind him before Sam can shout anything else.

Cas is standing by the Impala, his face turned toward the sky with his eyes closed. He’s breathing deeply, taking in the fresh air and sunshine.

“You really miss Earth that much after only two days?” Dean asks as he unlocks the car and gets in.

Cas climbs into the passenger seat. “Well, I didn’t think I would see Earth again,” he replies, a little too casually. “Where are we going?”

Dean pulls the car onto the road. “Does it matter?”

Cas looks over at him and cracks a smile. “No, it doesn’t.”


	2. Not So Starry-Eyed

They end up driving for a little longer than Dean planned. Nowhere seems like the right place for the conversation they’re about to have, and Dean wonders how much of that is just him stalling. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s stalling, but the notion that he _is_ stalling is nagging in the back of his head.

Cas sits calmly in the passenger seat the entire time, enjoying the scenery and waiting for Dean to pick a spot to stop. He’s infuriatingly patient.

 _I love you_ echoes in Dean’s ears. He knows there’s nothing to fear from Cas, but Dean is still nervous as hell.

“So what was the Empty like?” Dean asks, only to try and fill the silence. He can’t cope with silence right now.

Cas looks over at him, his hands in his lap and confusion on his face. “Is… is that what you want to discuss?”

Why does Cas have to be like this? “Humor me, man,” Dean insists, gripping the steering wheel a bit too tight.

“It was nothing,” Cas replies evenly, gazing back out the window at the trees blurring past the window. “Endless nothing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, more at himself than at Cas. He should’ve expected that answer. He’s an idiot. He bites the bullet and finally stops the car.

They’re on a wide bridge overlooking a river, the sun still in the east. Dean worries for a second about leaving the Impala in the road before he remembers that there’s no one else on the planet, nobody left to drive by. They get out of the car and Cas goes over to the edge, his hands on the railing as he takes in the view. Dean leans against the rail next to him, propped on his elbows. Sunlight is glinting off the water as the river rushes beneath the bridge, frothing over the rocks below. The clouds painted against the sky are feathered and distant.

Strangely, Cas barely looks like himself any more. The trenchcoat is gone, as is the tie. Instead he’s wearing a white button-down and he looks even more human than the last time he’d lost his grace. Dean supposes maybe it’s because they both know it’s permanent this time around.

Cas is the one who speaks first. “Dean, I want you to know that I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he says, watching the river. “I know that you don’t feel the same way I do, and I’m okay with that. I have no interest in pressuring you for anything.”

Dean mulls this over for a minute. “Well, I appreciate that.” He rubs his left thumb over the knuckles of his right hand as he tries to tangibly construct his thoughts. “Frankly, Cas, I don’t really know how to do this.”

Guilt ripples over Castiel’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not—” Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to… This isn’t your fault.” He swallows, chastising himself for making it sound like there’s any blame to be had. “I’m glad you told me.”

“You are?”

Dean breathes unsteadily, stumbling over his words. “I-I mean, it’s not just that I’m grateful that you saved me – although I am – but…” He trails off. He’s desperately trying to figure out what to say and how to say it and the fact that his heart is thudding loudly in his ears is _not_ helping. “You’re my best friend,” he says, although at this point the term doesn’t even come close to describing them. “And we owe it to each other to be honest. Me especially, after everything you’ve done.”

Cas is quiet, letting Dean ramble.

“I just…” Dean clamps his lips shut, his thoughts bottlenecking. “Did you only say that stuff because we were about to die?” For the first time since leaving the bunker, Dean actually meets Castiel’s gaze.

At the implication that his confession might have been merely a means to an end, nothing more than a calculated strategic battle move, Cas is offended. His eyebrows snap into a frown, his eyes flashing a deeper shade of blue. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he replies lowly.

Dean hangs his head momentarily, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, I felt like I had to ask,” he backs down. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it is all.”

They both watch the river, the trees along the bank rustling in the breeze.

“How long have you been feeling like that?” The question jumps from Dean’s chest before he has a chance to stop it, somehow both desperate for and dreading the answer.

“I’ve lost track.”

Dean feels like a complete asshole. “Maybe we should have talked about this years ago.”

“Maybe.” Cas pauses, squinting into the sunlight. “You’re not exactly the outwardly emotional type.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you.”

Cas laughs, and it’s the best thing Dean has heard in days. 

Dean smiles, relieved that the tension is beginning to dissipate. He doesn’t think he could handle feeling awkward around Cas for much longer. The easiest way forward would be to keep joking, to eventually get to a point where they can forget Cas ever said anything (impossible), and to return to the way their friendship was before. But he also believes what he said, that he owes Castiel his honesty, and so he draws a deep breath and takes a risk.

“Cas, it’s going to take me some time to really process this, okay?” he admits, running his fingers through his hair on the back of his head.

“I’m not expecting anything from you, Dean,” Cas interjects.

Dean holds up a hand before Castiel can continue. He just needs to speak uninterrupted, without Cas’s assumptions or protections. “All I mean,” he says slowly, carefully, “is that I’ve never done this before.” He meets Cas’s eyes again, and strangely feels safer. “It’s going to take me a minute to think it through.”

Cas only looks perplexed. “Are you saying—?”

“I’m saying that I want to think it over.” Dean can’t make any promises right now. He _can’t_. There’s too many things hanging overhead. “I mean, right now, we’ve got so much on our plates with Chuck hunting us down and… It’s just not the right time, you know? I don’t want to make any kind of decision until we can sit back and breathe a little.”

There’s no response from Cas – he’s still staring at Dean, still bewildered. He has no idea what the hell Dean’s talking about.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” Dean adds, hoping that’s enough to make himself clear.

Cas swallows. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d… that you’d actually reciprocate.”

“I don’t know that I do,” Dean is quick to say. He still needs an out. “But I don’t know that I don’t, either.”

Cas’s arm twitches, like he wants to reach out and touch Dean in some way, but he keeps his hands to himself. It dawns on Dean that the idea of Cas touching him in this moment doesn’t alarm him. He still doesn’t know if he _wants_ that kind of closeness from Castiel, but at least he suddenly knows that it doesn’t scare him.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice still a bit hoarse from his injury the day before. Dean’s heart skips abruptly; he ignores it. “I am perfectly happy to continue our friendship unchanged. Please don’t do something that will make you unhappy just because you think you owe me.”

His throat goes dry and Dean senses a wave of… _something_ wash over him. Relief, sadness, joy; he has no idea what it is. But that’s the point. He needs the space to figure that out. “You deserve an answer, Cas,” he insists. “A real answer. One that I’ve taken the time to consider.”

The corners of Castiel’s mouth tug upwards for a mere fraction of a second, a microexpression so small that Dean’s not even sure he saw it.

“So, after we kick Chuck’s ass, we’ll talk again,” Dean promises. “Is that okay with you?”

Cas nods immediately, surprise still written all over his face. As though he’s never dreamed he’d get this far. “It’s more than okay.”

“All right.” Dean nods, actually feeling comfortable leaving their conversation open-ended for the time being.

Cas turns back to watch the water rushing below their feet. “It’s nice here.”

“Yes it is,” Dean agrees. Cas is right – the river is beautiful and calming, and with the sunlight warming his skin it’s impossible not to enjoy just _being_ here.

Really, Dean should be urging Cas back into the car so they can return home and get back to work. He knows that Sam and Jack are going through every book and artefact in the bunker, and that just the two of them isn’t enough. Time is not on their side, and there’s nobody left to help, so it’s all hands on deck. After all, Chuck will not wait for them to be ready.

But surely a few minutes can’t hurt.

* * *

It’s a stressful, violent, _terrifying_ few days.

Facing cosmic beings like archangels, Death, the Empty, and God himself has gotten old very fast, Dean decides. And despite the fact that he, Jack, Sam, and Cas are all working together, they’ve never been more lonely. Even when working cases solo, they always knew there were others – people in their corner to call on, to offer advice or expertise or an extra pair of hands. Now, outside the bunker, the world is void of help.

But they still win.

By their end of their fight, Lucifer, Michael, and some poor Reaper named Betty have all been killed quickly enough to give Dean whiplash. Jack brutally strips Chuck of his power and leaves him begging, screaming by the side of some remote lake. He’s nothing more than one of his least favorite apes, bound to the dirt under his feet, and that suits them just fine.

Jack doesn’t come home after that, but he brings the entire world back to life before he goes. After nearly a week on an empty planet, the mere existence of people is deafening. Dean is heartbroken to see Jack leave, but for the first time he’s not afraid to let Jack out of his sight. Jack will be okay. So will the Winchesters.

When they return to the bunker, it feels empty without Jack, and yet it’s more full of life than it’s been in ages. Overjoyed to be home without yet another enemy knocking at the door, the three of them sit at the table in the library, drinking beer and laughing until the early hours of the morning. Sam videocalls Eileen, Donna, Jody, Bobby, and Charlie, one after the other. It’s partly to make sure they’re alive and safe, and partly to have them join in the celebration. This is a family night, and it’s not complete without them.

Dean eventually falls into his bed sometime around dawn, more than a little drunk, and lays there in the dark. He’s exhausted but he still can’t sleep, completely unaccustomed to having nothing looming ahead – no new fights, no monsters, nothing in the entire pantheon of the world coming to try and devour them. There will still be cases, the occasional werewolf or vampire or djinn, but all of that seems trivial now, barely a blip on the radar. Tomorrow (or rather later today) he’s going to wake up and he’ll have nothing to do.

He’s not sure if that scares or excites him.

With his mind whirling in circles, eddied by fear and hope and alcohol, he becomes acutely aware that Castiel’s bedroom is only a few doors away down the hall. They gave Cas one of the extra guest rooms to make into his own now that he actually needs to sleep, and he passed out in a beer coma hours ago, much more of a lightweight than Dean or Sam. Dean can practically feel Cas’s energy from where he lays, somehow so much more _present_ now that he’s not an angel anymore. Or maybe Dean’s imagining that.

Yeah, he’s definitely imagining it.

Dean tosses in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. He’s sure that Sam and Cas are both snoring away in their respective rooms, and he’s annoyed that he can’t seem to do the same. There’s a lump in his pillow from the gun he keeps under it, bothering him for the first time. He yanks the pistol out from under the pillow and shoves it into the end table drawer by his bed, then drops his head back down and closes his eyes and _wills_ himself to fall asleep.

Still nothing.

He huffs, turning over and gazing at the crack of light under his door from the hallway. With nothing else pressing, nothing else breathing down his neck, his mind wanders unchecked back to the bridge. Back to Cas’s face, smiling in the sun.

He feels his heart knock against his ribs, a trickle of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stares at the crack under the door and pictures the shadows of two feet appearing, imagines a soft knock from the other side and a whispered “ _Dean? Are you still up?_ ”

But none of those things happen, and Dean forces his eyes shut again.

It would make sense, he thinks abruptly, the idea shocking into his brain like a clap of thunder. Cas is a hunter, and they always said that any partner would have to understand the hunter’s life. Cas is his best friend, and he knows Dean better than anyone else apart from Sam. They’re already close; would one step further really be that big of a change?

Yes, it would. He knows it would. Maybe it would be different if Cas had a female vessel, but he doesn’t.

_Do I really care?_

The question jolts through him, and heat pools in his stomach. He gives up the fight for sleep, kicking the blankets aside, and sits on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Dean can’t shake the suspicion that he’s waited far too long for… for this, whatever it is. Maybe he does find men attractive in the same way as women, but it’s never occurred to him to explore or even acknowledge that. Or maybe Cas is just an exception to the rule. Or maybe it doesn’t even matter, and Cas’s gender is among the smallest of details.

Sam wasn’t shocked, so why should Dean be?

With his heart thudding so loudly that Dean is sure it’s audible several rooms away, Dean realizes that the only thing he really wants at this exact moment is to talk to Cas. Or maybe not even to talk. Just to see him. He’s sure that once he sees Cas, all of this will make sense.

He stands and goes to the door, stepping out into the corridor in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers. His bare feet are freezing against the concrete floor. He shuts the door behind him as quietly as possible, instinctively trying to be discreet but not knowing why. It’s a performance for no one other than himself. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Sam isn’t nearby (even though there’s no reason to think he would be) and walks toward Cas’s room.

He’s only a few steps away when he stops, feeling like his feet are glued to the floor. He stares at the solid oak door. His head is swimming.

What the _hell_ is he thinking?

What is he going to do, burst into Cas’s bedroom at five in the morning? To do what? Just to talk? Cuddle? What the hell is wrong with him? He’s drunk and acting rashly, and it’s not like he has any kind of plan. Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes at his stupidity, then scrapes his palms over his face and pulls his fingers through his hair. Gritting his teeth, he swallows any thoughts of seeing Cas right now and deftly turns on his heel to go back to his room. Which is where he should be.

In the dark once again, Dean yanks the pillow over his head with an irritated huff and he stays there until sleep finds him at last.

* * *

Dean wakes up sometime in the early afternoon with his head full of static and an intense craving for coffee. He rubs the gunk out of his eyes and shrugs on his robe, but once he sees the time on his alarm clock he thinks better of it and changes into real clothes. He doesn’t bother with shoes, though – why should he? There will be no cases today, no reasons to rush out of the bunker with no warning. He leaves his room barefoot.

It’s quiet in the bunker – _extremely_ quiet. Just a few days ago, Dean would have found that alarming. Now, he finds it restful. Dean wanders through the library to see if Sam is there, even though there’s nothing to research, nothing that Sam would be working on. He’s nowhere to be found, and Dean instead discovers a note pinned under a whiskey tumbler on the table in Sam’s messy scrawl:

_Went to see some people. Back later._

Dean smiles to himself, certain that what Sam really means is that he’s going to see Eileen for some much-needed alone time. After everything they’ve been through over the years, he knows Sam sure as hell deserves some happiness.

In the kitchen, Dean finds Cas doing the dishes, and damn, if it isn’t one of the weirdest things he’s ever seen. Cas is still not in his own clothes, instead wearing one of Sam’s blue flannel shirts with a hole in the elbow. It’s too big for him and hangs off his frame like it’s melting around him. He’s had to roll up the sleeves to keep them from getting wet in the sink. A former angel doing the dishes. Dean’s pretty sure there’s a punchline in there somewhere.

“Hey,” he says, making a beeline for the coffee pot. “Since when do you do dishes?”

“Since I started eating,” Cas replies, looking up for only a moment before he returns to his task. “We saved you breakfast.” He points to the fridge with a soapy knife.

“Oh, thanks.” Dean isn’t hungry yet. He leans against the counter, watching Cas as he takes a long sip from his mug.

He stares just a bit too long, and Cas notices. “What?”

Dean gives himself a shake, clearing his throat. “Nothing, man. You just look funny,” he says quickly. “We need to get you some clothes that actually fit.”

“And that aren’t covered in blood,” Cas adds, scrubbing scrambled egg residue out of a frying pan.

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’ll ever wash out.” Dean takes another dragging gulp, feeling the coffee burn on the way down. He tries very, very hard not to think about Cas bleeding out on the floor with his neck ripped open almost to the bone, about how close they came to losing him for good. “We can get you a new trench coat. If you want.”

Cas purses his mouth in thought as he rinses the pan. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not me any more.” He’s barely audible over the running of the faucet.

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Something tugs at the pit of his stomach and he suddenly feels exactly like he did in the hallway just before dawn. Like there’s a wall he’s fast approaching and he’s not bracing for the impact.

He drinks his coffee in slow, consciously measured gulps. If he’s being obviously awkward, Cas doesn’t acknowledge it. Dean almost wishes he would, because then at least they’d be talking about it without Dean having to be the one to start the conversation with no idea what to say. He pours himself a second cup from the pot.

Somehow, the fact that Cas isn’t speaking – isn’t even _looking_ at him – is infuriating. Dean knows that after their talk on the bridge, Cas will not be the one to bring it up. He will let Dean initiate, whether it takes days or years or even if Dean never says a thing. He’s exasperatingly, mind-bogglingly patient, a trait earned from a life already thousands of years long. 

Dean is stuck, spinning his wheels in nothing but mud. He doesn’t know what he thinks. He has no idea why he assumed last night that just seeing Cas would help to make heads or tails of what’s going through his own head. Now that Cas is in front of him, everything makes even less sense than it did before.

He feels like a broken compass, whirling back and forth with no target in sight.

Cas is still standing at the sink, hands submerged in the dishwater, apparently completely ignorant of the fact that Dean is now flat-out staring at his back. Dean had never been able to see Cas’s wings before, but mystifyingly, he _can_ see they’re no longer there. There’s something different in the way Cas’s body stands now, like his center of gravity has changed.

The full realization of everything that Castiel has lost hits Dean like a freight train, his coffee going cold in his hand despite the steam coming off the top. Everything that Cas has given up, has sacrificed, has fought for… and how short his life will be. He had expected to live for millenia – no, for _hundreds_ of millenia – and however much time he has left now before he dies, even if it’s just of old age, seems so little.

Everything goes quiet in Dean’s head, and he sets his cup down on the counter. He’s been thinking too much, he decides.

It takes only two steps to cross the space between them, and just as Cas looks up from the sink, Dean grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss.

Cas lets out a short, muffled noise of surprise. He freezes for only the briefest of seconds. Sudsy water splatters onto the floor, soaking into Dean’s shirt as Cas’s hands find his hips.

His lips part and Cas follows, deepening the kiss and sending shockwaves through Dean’s chest. His shirt is pulled taut against his lower back as Cas bunches the fabric in his fists. Heat surges up from Dean’s core, pulsing through his body like an earthquake.

The kiss is everything, all at once. Strange and familiar, electric and calming, unnerving and yet safe. Dean’s fingertips dig into the nape of Cas’s neck, and all he knows is he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t feel like he’s spinning any more, his compass unwavering.

Cas draws back for just a moment. He swallows, his chest shuddering almost imperceptibly. “Are you—?”

“Yes,” Dean breathes, and kisses him again.

Dizziness washes over him, from a lack of oxygen or sheer adrenaline he has no idea. Dean pulls Cas closer and then pushes him back against the counter as Cas’s hand traces up his spine. Goosebumps course over Dean’s skin, radiating outward from Cas’s touch like ripples on a pond.

Dean recalls vaguely that he’d been confused and hesitant before this, but it already seems like a distant, fuzzy memory, not much more than a dream. He can’t quite believe that he was ever uncertain, ever apprehensive. In fact, the only thing he can think about at this moment is wondering why the hell it’s taken him this long.

His ears now roaring, all Dean can focus on is the sensation of Cas’s body pressing up against him, the feeling of stubble scraping his chin and Cas’s strong hands gripping him. Through the white noise, he hears a low, almost-growling moan and it takes Dean a moment to realize that it’s coming from him. His hands find their way down to Cas’s lower back, drawing him even closer than Dean previously thought possible.

When Cas pulls away again, Dean barely manages to stop himself from letting out an undignified whine. He’s breathing heavily, his head still crackling with oxygen, and he feels drunk in the best way. So it takes a little too long for Dean to realize that Cas’s eyes are not looking at him, but rather at something over his shoulder.

He turns, and in less than an instant feels his skin flush bright red, because Sam and Eileen are standing in the doorway.

Dean immediately yanks his hands away from Cas, and Cas clears his throat and straightens his shirt.

Sam is standing frozen with his eyes wide and jaw dropped, Eileen’s duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. Eileen has her hands clamped over her mouth, desperately trying not to laugh but failing as she starts to snort through her fingers.

Stunned, Sam finally points to her. “Eileen’s here,” he says.

“I can see that,” Dean snaps, clinging to whatever shred of dignity he’s got left. “You ever hear of a knock?”

“It’s the _kitchen_ , Dean,” Sam retorts.

Eileen completely loses the battle not to laugh and starts giggling like a schoolgirl, so much so that she has to shake her head and back away. “I’m gonna go back to the library,” she manages to get out between cackles.

Sam shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Um… I think I’m going to let you two… talk,” he stammers, then retreats and follows Eileen.

“Well, that was awkward,” Cas states as soon as they’re alone again. He’s still leaning on the counter, but seems unperturbed.

“Yeah, just a bit,” Dean says bitterly. He wasn’t ready to share this with Sam. Not literally minutes after he’d figured it out for himself. Too late now, though. “I should go talk to him.”

Cas frowns, puzzled. “Why?”

“I don’t know, to – to explain, or…” Dean trails off. He has no idea what he’s saying.

“I’m fairly certain that what we were just doing explains most of it,” Cas replies evenly. He presses his lips together, not quite hiding a grin.

“Are you laughing?”

A chuckle bursts out of Cas’s chest and he shrugs in the most human gesture Dean’s ever seen him make. “It’s a _little_ funny,” he says.

Dean huffs, not nearly as amused. But Cas is right; Sam already has a pretty good idea of what’s going on and nothing Dean can say will lend anything to the situation. He doesn’t really know what he’d say to Sam anyways. “So what now?” he asks instead.

“I think…” Cas speaks slowly, reaching over to grasp the front of Dean’s shirt. He tugs Dean close again, his voice lowering in a way that makes Dean’s skin tingle. “I think we should pick up where we left off.”

Dean’s heart is galloping in his chest again, a shaky breath working its way out of his lungs. He can feel every cell in his body, every atom, thrumming with electricity. But Sam was home and only a few rooms away now, and they are in the _kitchen_ , after all. Dean swallows audibly, self-conscious and shy for the first time in years.

Cas reaches up and presses another kiss, quicker this time, to the corner of Dean’s mouth. It’s enough to make Dean relax, his shoulders falling as the tension sweeps away. “But maybe not here,” Cas adds, briefly squeezing Dean’s wrist before letting go.

He doesn’t have to ask for clarification to know what Cas means. “Don’t you have to finish?” Dean asks stupidly, gesturing to the sink.

“Sam can do the rest,” Cas replies idly, brushing past Dean and heading for the hallway.

Dean has the sneaking suspicion that Cas isn’t really astonished by any of this, that he’s simply been waiting for Dean to catch up. So Dean does. He follows Cas out of the kitchen and down the hall.

When they reach Cas’s room, Dean feels again like he’s not bracing for a fast-approaching impact. But now, he knows he doesn’t want to. He’s not going to waste any more time.

As soon as the door to Cas’s bedroom closes behind them, Dean is pressed up against the door and Cas’s mouth finds his lips again. Cas drags the kiss out of him with a moan, hands ghosting down to the small of Dean’s back and winding their way under his shirt. Dean flinches at the caress, only because he’s not used to being touched there, caught off-balance and entirely focused on the way Cas is kissing him. It seems now that Dean has put the key in the ignition, Cas is the one driving.

He’s suddenly _very_ glad that Cas seems to have done away with the suit and trench coat. Under only a white t-shirt and a layer of flannel (in true hunter fashion), Cas feels abundantly more accessible.

Cas’s lips pull away and leave a line of kisses down the side of Dean’s neck, and Dean involuntarily makes a desperate noise in his throat when Cas’s teeth graze his collarbone. Dean’s mouth drops open and the back of his head hits the door a bit too hard, but he barely notices. The overriding sensation is the weight of Cas’s body, the fingers tracing his hips below the belt line, the heat of Cas’s breath as he buries an open-mouthed kiss into the dip where Dean’s neck meets his chest.

Dean swears loudly and viciously when Cas rolls his hips into him. The action sends a searing pulse of electricity crashing through him, ricocheting from his groin through his chest and back again. Dean’s fist curls against Cas’s pectoral, tugging his shirt so ferociously that it nearly rips. The cloth chafes along Cas’s neck and leaves a reddened line under his skin.

“ _God_ , how are you _doing_ this?” Dean breathes out, his voice shaking.

Cas lifts his head, his lips pulling away from Dean for the first time since they came into the room. This makes Dean open his eyes, meeting Cas’s gaze (and doesn’t that just nearly take him out at the knees). A small, barely-detectable grin is sketched over Cas’s face.

“It’s working, then?” is all he says.

Cocky bastard.

Dean yanks him back in, already sick of not having Cas’s mouth on him. He drags Cas’s lower lip in between his teeth, tasting static. Cas grinds up on him again and Dean groans into the back of Cas’s throat, the muscles in his shoulders going slack.

Abruptly, Cas’s hand snakes behind him and into his jeans, thumbing past the waistband of his boxers in order to grab Dean’s ass bare-skinned. His fingers dig possessively into the cheek, forcing Dean’s pelvis to buck forward. Dean sucks an involuntary gasp through gritted teeth, his head falling onto Cas’s shoulder, into the flushed crook of his neck. He’s glad he didn’t wear shoes this morning, because without them he and Cas are exactly the same height.

He can’t quite believe that he ever wanted Cas to back out of his personal space. He can’t believe that even just a few _minutes_ ago, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted this.

Cas seizes this opportunity to push Dean’s shirt from his shoulders, prying it from Dean’s torso like he’s cracking open a geode. Flannel hits the floor at their feet. Cas peels the remaining t-shirt up and over Dean’s head and tosses it. The air hits Dean’s bare skin simultaneously too hot and too cold, making a shudder ripple through him as Cas’s lips brush his jaw.

Suddenly Dean is pulled away from the door as Cas spins him, gripping him by the hips, and pitches him backward onto the bed. Dean’s back hits the mattress and then Cas is on top of him, his mouth tracing down Dean’s sternum.

Breathing hard, Dean is startlingly aware of the fact that he’s already half naked while Cas is still fully clothed, and a glimmer of hesitancy tugs at the back of his head. With Cas’s hands pinning Dean’s wrists to the bed, somehow expertly pushing every one of Dean’s buttons, he realizes that Cas has been playing this movie, running over this exact scenario in his head for _years_.

But for Dean it’s still brand new. It’s coming at him too fast. He does want it – he _does_ – but his body is thrumming on an atomic level and he feels vulnerable in a way that he can’t remember ever feeling before and everything begins to bottleneck.

Cas lets go of his wrists and deftly unbuckles Dean’s belt, tugging at the zipper. And when his touch skims over Dean’s _very_ obvious hard-on, it’s too much. Something akin to panic surges up from his gut.

“Wait, _wait_ —” he stammers.

Cas jerks back like he’s been electrocuted, on his feet and away in an instant. Fear and guilt color his face, his neck still flushed. “I-I’m sorry,” he says.

Dean shakes his head, sitting up on the edge of the mattress with his bare feet on the floor, still half breathless. “I just… just need to pump the brakes for a second.”

“You’ve changed your mind.”

Cas doesn’t say it like a question, but Dean knows it is. He’s quick to counter. “No,” he insists. “No. No, it’s just… Fifteen minutes ago, _this_ —” He gestures to the empty space between the two of them. “—wasn’t a thing. And now, I… I don’t know.”

Cas rakes his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, looking at the floor. “I shouldn’t have—” he starts, but Dean cuts him off again.

“Stop it. Would you just come back over here? You’re making me nervous.”

He hesitates, but finally returns to the bed and sits beside Dean, pointedly keeping his hands to himself.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dean says, because he can _feel_ Cas desperately wanting to shout apologies until he’s blue in the face. “I want to be here. Okay?”

Cas’s mouth twitches, pressing into a thin line like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Okay?” Dean repeats, more forceful this time.

It’s a struggle, but Cas meets his eyes at last. “Okay.”

Dean lets out a relieved huff, though his stomach is still doing backflips. “I just… I feel like we should take it a little slower.”

Cas stares at him for so long, his expression utterly unreadable, that Dean’s heart begins to beat off-rhythm. He eventually blurts out “Is it because I’m not—?” and stops himself before he finishes the question.

Dean doesn’t know what Cas was intending to say – _not quite human, not a woman, not enough for you_ – but whatever the unspoken ending, Dean knows the answer is _no_.

He exhales again, studying the wall. “It’s because you’re important,” he says quietly, then awkwardly clears his throat, feeling much more naked than he actually is.

He’s telling the truth. He’s always been one to leap into quick flings and one-night stands without a second thought, finding a temporary nest in every roadside tavern. Wherever would keep him warm for a night, or even an hour or two. Wherever he could get a moment’s touch without violence. But the only period in his life when he found something more, something he wanted to _keep_ – with Lisa and Ben – he’d wanted to take his time. Cas is no different in that regard.

He pushes any thoughts of Lisa out of his head. As important as she was (and still is), she has no place here in Cas’s bedroom.

“I mean, neither of us are exactly experienced here,” Dean continues. A small laugh jumps out of his chest. “Although you could’ve fooled me.”

A smile creeps back onto Cas’s face like a sunrise, gradual and brilliant. “Slow,” he echoes. “I can do that.”


	3. Throwing Stones At The Stars

Once Chuck is gone, the world is brighter and bigger around them. The bunker is full of life – movie nights and loud dinners and card games. Eileen is around almost constantly, practically living at the bunker most days. While she’s spending her time with Sam, it gives Dean and Cas plenty of room to be on their own. The four of them go on a few hunts here and there, but for the most part they sit and enjoy their freedom.

In the weeks following Chuck’s defeat, people visit the bunker one by one. Bobby and Charlie swing by for some poker and beer, and Donna shows up with doughnuts and a _Game Of Thrones_ DVD set. Jody and her girls all descend on the bunker one weekend for what essentially amounts to a field trip and a slumber party. They all cram into the TV room with bowls of popcorn for a showing of _3:10 To Yuma_ , where Kaia, Claire, Alex, and Patience are forced to sprawl on cushions on the floor. And when Cas sits on the couch with his arm around Dean’s shoulders, relaxed and comfortable and stealing handfuls of popcorn from the bowl in Dean’s lap, Claire gives him a knowing smile that nobody else sees.

It only takes a couple of weeks to sink into their new normal. Not just hunting small-time monsters and being relieved when each case doesn’t lead to bigger and badder things, but _living_ , and doing so together. Sam and Eileen go running every morning, while Cas and Dean walk the dog and make breakfast so that it’s ready when they return.

In the small moments where Cas and Dean are alone, they discover each other gradually, bit by bit. Cas decides that this is the best time in his eons-long life.

But time, as it happens, runs out for Dean and Castiel much, much quicker than they expected.

Nearly two months after they beat Chuck, Cas wakes tangled in Dean’s limbs. Dean is snoring, his arm draped over Cas’s middle. Cas waits for a while, watching Dean sleep and relishing in the warmth of the too-small bed. He idly traces shapes on Dean’s bare shoulder with his index finger, ghosting over freckles and scars from old fights. Finally, the clock turns over to eight-thirty and Cas sighs, not quite ready to leave this moment. He wakes Dean, gently running his hand over Dean’s forearm until he stirs.

“Man, I was having a good dream,” Dean grumbles, only half coherent as he shifts closer.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” Dean says through a yawn with his eyes still closed.

Cas can see that he’s about to fall back asleep, so he presses his forehead to Dean’s. “We have to go walk the dog.”

Dean grunts in the back of his throat, refusing to move. “Two more minutes.”

Cas waits for exactly two minutes before he pushes Dean’s arm off him and stands up, making Dean groan indignantly into the pillow. “Come on,” Cas urges, lightly slapping Dean’s thigh.

He puts up a fight, but Dean finally sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes as Cas gets dressed. They leave the bunker with Miracle trotting alongside them and fresh air filling their lungs.

Despite the early hour, it’s already a beautiful day, and the world is bursting – a riot of every color in Creation. Cas almost misses his grace, only because as an angel he could see the vibrations of every atom in every tree, every bird and insect, every stone, and he was constantly witness to the divine energy that held this world together. Now, though, he’s able to see the colors as a whole, the sweeping sum of every building block put together without the complex burden of seeing exactly how they fit. It’s the way a human sees the world. The way Dean sees it.

Walking beneath the trees, with one hand interlocked with Dean’s and Miracle running ahead, Cas finds no need to fill the space between them with talk.

Later, after breakfast, Dean announces that he’s found a case in Ohio – children disappearing in pairs, their parents left dead or disfigured. Eileen finds another in Parkersburg, West Virginia, and turns her laptop around so they can see the article reporting that three bodies had turned up with their hearts ripped out. There’s some debate among the four of them as to which case to tackle first, until Dean decides they should split up.

“I mean, four hunters to a case is kind of overkill, isn’t it?” he says. “Practically no sport in it.”

“All right,” Sam nods. “Eileen and I can take West Virginia, and you and Cas take Ohio.”

Eileen glances at Dean for a second and then suggests that she and Cas pair up instead. “Cas and I can handle Parkersburg.”

Cas smiles at her, knowing that she’s only proposing the idea because she’s been spending a _lot_ of time with Sam lately, and the same is true of him and Dean. The brothers have had barely any space to hang out just the two of them. And Cas knows it’s the right call, since Dean is already excited at the prospect of working a case with just Sam for the first time in a long while.

They pack up changes of clothes and snacks for the road, and just before they head out the door Dean presses a quick goodbye kiss to Cas’s lips. “I’ll call you from the road.”

“Be safe,” Cas tells him, and climbs into the passenger seat of Eileen’s Plymouth Valiant.

Eileen, as it turns out, is a bit of a reckless driver, and they reach West Virginia in record time. Cas is not familiar with the sensation of being carsick, and by the time they arrive he’s just grateful that they never got pulled over for speeding. He asks her once outside of St. Louis to _please_ slow down, but she only replies with “People are dying, Castiel.”

They crash at a motel for the night and get started asking questions around town first thing the following morning. Eileen has an impressive array of disguises on hand, even more so than Sam and Dean, and Cas is stunned when she steps out of the motel bathroom in a full police officer’s uniform.

“Don’t worry, I have one for you too,” she assures him, pulling a second uniform out of her duffel. It so happens that she has a friend in New York who works in costume design, has an excellent eye for detail, and most importantly, owes Eileen a _lot_ of favors.

They arrive at the scene of a new killing, bringing the total body count in Parkersburg to four. Approaching the crime scene tape outside a picture-perfect suburban home, they’re stopped by one of the local police.

“Can I help you?” The officer is clearly a rookie, barely out of the academy.

“I’m Officer Jenny Conlee, and this is my partner Colin Meloy. We’re reinforcements from Marietta,” says Eileen smoothly, signing as she speaks. “Our department thought you could use some help with this case.”

Cas holds up his fake badge, trying to keep a straight face as the rookie blinks rapidly, utterly taken aback.

“Sorry, are you… are you Deaf?” he stammers.

Eileen gives him a withering look. “Obviously,” she signs.

Inside, they find a gruesome scene – some poor young woman whose heart was ripped out so violently that her blood splattered on the ceiling. Eileen stares down at the body on the floor, her mouth twitching in a pang of sadness, before she signs a single word to Castiel: “Werewolf.”

Later, as they stop for lunch at a diner near the Parkersburg town center, Dean’s name pops up on Cas’s phone. Cas rubs his fist on his chest for a moment to apologize to Eileen for the interruption, then steps outside to answer the call. He leans on the hood of Eileen’s car and grins when Dean tells him that they’re at a pie festival in Akron.

“ _Cas, they have a peanut butter and jelly cheesecake!_ ” Dean says, his excitement palpable even through the phone.

“That sounds delicious, but since when do you like cheesecake?”

“ _Oh, come on, it’s practically pie._ ”

Cas chuckles, glancing up at Eileen through the diner window. She’s also on her phone, checking in quickly with Sam through a video call.

 _“How’s your case?_ ” Dean inquires.

“Progressing quickly,” Cas answers. “It’s werewolves. We’re pretty sure there’s a whole pack nearby. After lunch, we’re going to ask around and see if we can figure out where they’re hiding.”

Cas can sense Dean smiling as he says, “ _Well, you and Eileen make a cute team._ ”

“How’s it going on your end?”

“ _Sam slammed a pie in my face, so revenge is next on the list._ ”

That forces another laugh out of Cas. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“ _Yeah, well, next case is you and me, okay?_ ”

“Yes. Definitely.” Cas waves to Eileen as she looks at him through the diner window and points to her watch. “I have to go, Dean, but as soon as Eileen and I finish with this case we’ll head up to Akron.”

“ _Great. I’ll see you soon._ ”

Cas ends the call and goes back inside. He asks the waitress for a box so he can take his lunch to go, eager to wrap up the case.

It takes the rest of the day to track the wolf pack to a junkyard just outside the town perimeter, where scrapped cars sit in rusty stacks behind a chain link fence. Just after sunset, Cas and Eileen break in armed to the teeth – silver bullets in their guns and silver knives strapped to their ankles and tucked into their sleeves. Eileen uses a small pair of wire cutters to cut through the fence, letting Cas wriggle through ahead of her. Methodically, they comb through the junkyard with their guns at the ready.

Rounding a corner beneath a precariously balanced scrap stack, a man leaps out of the darkness with yellow eyes and huge fangs bared. Eileen puts a bullet in his head from four feet away, and the junkyard erupts into chaos.

There’s five more werewolves, and they live up to their pack hunter nature, coming at Cas and Eileen from all sides. Cas manages to shoot a female through the stomach just before she can sink her teeth into his neck. Eileen swings her bowie knife into the chest of a hulking male, and suddenly the pack has gone from six to three.

The fight is a close call – very close. By the end of it, Eileen has a big cut on her cheek and bleeding scratches down her arm, while Cas is nursing a laceration on his shoulder. Both of them are out of breath and absolutely filthy, covered in dirt, gravel, and werewolf body fluids.

Eileen grimaces and wipes wolf spittle from her jacket. “Gross.”

Cas nods in agreement, still panting from the exertion of wrestling with a werewolf twice his size. “This was so much easier when I had powers,” he remarks, idly kicking the severed head of the alpha away from its body with the toe of his boot.

“You miss them?” Eileen asks as she pulls a detached claw out of her hair.

Cas grins. “Not at all.”

Once they’ve disposed of the bodies in the car compactor, they head back to the Valiant to get cleaned up. Eileen, much more of a plan-ahead personality than Dean or Sam, has not just a stash of weapons in the trunk, but also plenty of water and wipes alongside the first aid kit. Cas is wrapping a bandage around Eileen’s scratched-up forearm when his phone rings in his back pocket.

“Hi, Sam,” he answers, holding the phone between his ear and his non-injured shoulder as he finishes tying the bandage.

“ _Cas._ ”

Instantly, Cas freezes. Something is wrong.

“ _Cas, I—_ ” Sam chokes on the other end. “ _This— This case, it went sideways…_ ”

The pit of Cas’s stomach goes cold, ice spreading through his veins. “Sam, what happened?”

Eileen is watching him with a worried frown. “What’s wrong?” she signs.

The connection crackles as Sam sobs into the phone. He sounds like he’s speaking through a mouthful of broken glass. “ _Dean, h-he…_ ”

Cas’s heart lurches to a stop, his hands going numb.

“ _You need to come up here now,_ ” Sam manages to get out, and the only thing Cas can say is that he’ll be there soon.

Eileen speeds the entire way to Akron, so much so that Cas is worried the engine of the Valiant will give out. But they make it, and they find Sam in the countryside miles outside the city. He’s at an abandoned farm, in the dirt drive leading up to a huge decaying barn. Cas leaps from the car before Eileen has even finished parking and runs to where Sam is sitting on the ground, leaning with his back on the passenger door of the Impala.

As soon as he sees them, Sam begins to cry in violent, wracking sobs. Eileen drops to her knees beside him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, his entire weight sagging against her side.

“I-I couldn’t – I couldn’t g-get him down,” is the only thing Sam is able to articulate. 

Cas has no idea what that means, but it sends a chill through his body. Terror claws at the back of his skull, his breath quickening. “Where… where is he?” he asks, his voice shaking.

Sam wordlessly gestures to the barn. He can’t speak.

Time slows to a crawl as Cas approaches the barn door with his pulse echoing in his ears and static crackling inside his head. His limbs seem to move of their own accord.

Inside the barn, there’s blood everywhere and beheaded corpses strewn across the straw-covered dusty floor. They’ve taken out the entire vampire nest, leaving no survivors. Dean is over to the right against a large wooden post. 

Cas doesn’t understand what he’s seeing.

Dean is standing upright. He’s _standing_. But his head hangs low and his arms and legs are slack, utterly unmoving. Behind him, a small stream of blood has coursed down the post and pooled under Dean’s boots.

Cas stumbles over the dead and dismembered vampires, barely noticing them. He’s focused entirely on Dean’s face. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open. Cas cups Dean’s cheek and there’s no response. His skin isn’t cold yet, but it’s not as warm as it should be. There’s no color, no sign of pain, no small but sure pulsing of the vein in Dean’s temple.

This isn’t Dean. It’s an empty shell, his soul already gone. He’s not standing. He’s _hanging_.

The sound that wrenches out of Cas’s chest is holy agony, somewhere between a sob and a scream.

Eileen is beside him then, grasping at his arm. She’s saying his name, he knows she is, but he can’t hear her. Cas is drowning, unable to breathe. He’s clinging to Dean’s shoulders, prayers pouring out of him like a waterfall over a cliff.

Eileen has to shout in order to make him look at her. Her eyes are wide and threatening to spill over, but suddenly she’s the only thing tethering Cas to the ground. “Castiel,” she says, forceful and soft all at once. “Cas. Listen to me. We need to bring him outside.” She places her palm on his shuddering chest, pleading. “We need to get him home. Can you help me?”

Cas coughs out a breath, the air tearing out of his lungs with sharp edges. He barely manages a nod. The longer Dean is stuck there, the worse it is.

She squeezes his wrist comfortingly, her chin trembling. “We’ll do this together. Okay?”

Feeling entirely detached from the earth under his feet, Cas nods again. He has to do this. He can’t leave Dean here in this horrific position, not when Dean deserves so much better. Together, Eileen and Cas grip Dean’s torso and attempt to pull him from the post, but he won’t budge. He’s pinned.

Eileen steps back, shakily swiping tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. “I think… I think we have to lift him.” She hiccups, looking sick to her stomach at the thought.

Cas wants to vomit. Eileen is right; whatever object has impaled Dean is literally hooked into him, and they can’t just pull him forward. At her direction, Cas nudges his shoulder underneath Dean’s left arm while Eileen does the same on the right, and together they push upward.

He isn’t prepared for the noise. Cas can feel and _hear_ the object rip out of Dean’s flesh, scraping past bone and tendon and muscle. Worse still, the motion drives the last bit of air in Dean’s lungs out in a hollow exhale, and for a single excruciating moment Cas thinks Dean is still breathing. This is what Sam couldn’t do. He couldn’t listen to this.

As Dean’s body is finally tugged free, he’s suddenly _heavy_ and Cas and Eileen almost immediately lose their hold on him. He hits the ground like a tree torn from its roots, the hole in his back surrounded by a large patch of blood. Cas sees at last that it’s a piece of rebar jabbing out from the wooden post – sharp, bigger than any angel blade, and dripping with Dean’s blood. It’s long enough to have pierced nearly all the way through him.

Cas presses his palms over his face, unable to take in the sight of Dean lying dead at his feet. His lungs are fighting to breathe, gasping unevenly as he cries into his hands.

Eileen swallows and blinks her tears away, squaring her shoulders. “Cas, help me,” she orders.

He does, and together they carry Dean’s body out of the barn, back to the Impala. Sam is already on his feet, and the three of them struggle to get him into the back seat. Cas gets into the car and pulls from inside, and ends up sitting behind the driver’s seat with Dean’s head and shoulders in his arms. Cas is pinned under Dean’s weight, but he doesn’t want to move and refuses Sam’s suggestion to sit in the front seat.

Dean is bleeding onto the leather upholstery. It’s sluggish and sticky, pulled from his wound by gravity and not the pressure of his heartbeat.

Outside the car, Eileen is trying to reassure Sam, but Cas doesn’t care enough about what she’s saying to listen.

“We didn’t have enough time,” Cas whispers. He winds a hand into Dean’s hair, pulling him closer, trying to keep the warmth from leaving his body. He doesn’t – can’t – look at Dean’s face. Not like this.

The journey home is dark and silent. Sam doesn’t speak, his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. Cas stares out the window and watches the sun rise as they navigate the highway back to Kansas, the sky rolling from black to pink. Somewhere behind them, Eileen is following in the Valiant, a pair of headlights over their shoulders.

They take Dean to a place outside of Lebanon, a meadow surrounded by woods a decent distance from the road. Cas is at last forced to leave Dean in the car, and he, Sam, and Eileen begin collecting wood for a funeral pyre. As he works, Cas is utterly numb.

Dropping one final armful of wood onto the amassed pile, Cas looks up at the sound of an engine. No, multiple engines. There are cars coming.

Cas and Sam exchange a look, and quickly head for the Impala to retrieve their guns. If someone was about to discover them burning a body in a field, it wouldn’t end well. Their fears are quashed, however, when they recognize the vehicles coming down the dirt road. Three trucks and a car all drive into the meadow and park next to the Impala and the Valiant.

Bobby and Charlie step out of their piece-of-junk pickups, while Donna climbs down out of her souped-up rottweiler of a truck. Jody’s sedan pulls to a stop beside them, her girls piling out of the car after her.

Cas and Sam look at each other again, this time in shock. Eileen is the only one who isn’t surprised at the sudden arrival, and Cas realizes that Eileen must have been the one to call them.

“Sorry we’re late,” says Donna, yanking Sam down into an embrace.

Cas lets out a long exhale, the first easy breath he’s taken since Akron. There are now eleven people in the meadow, and all he can feel is gratitude. 

Donna, Jody, Bobby, Charlie, Patience, Claire, Kaia, Alex, Eileen, Cas, and Sam all build the pyre together. There are tears and reassuring hugs and loving stories and broken laughter over memories relived. And when it’s time, Cas and Sam carry Dean from the car. When Cas falters while tying the shroud, Jody steps in to help. Bobby splashes gasoline. Charlie hands Sam her lighter.

Sam is the one to light the pyre, and they all step back and watch the flames surge toward the sky, smoke pouring upward and dissipating into the blue. Cas looks down when someone grabs his hand and sees that it’s Claire. She squeezes his hand once with both of hers and leans her head on his shoulder, and he _cries_.

Surrounded by family, they watch Dean burn away into the atmosphere.

It’s a day and a half before Cas can bring himself to clean the blood from the Impala’s back seat. He doesn’t feel ready at all, but he can hear Dean’s voice in the back of his head: 

_You just going to leave my baby like that? C’mon, man, it’s not good for the leather._

So he gets a bowl of water and a cloth from the kitchen and brings them out to the bunker’s garage, where the Impala has sat undriven since the funeral. When he opens the door and sees the dried blood on the seat, he has to take a minute to compose himself, one hand braced on the Impala's roof. He takes a few breaths to steel his nerves, then leans in and balances on his knees in order to scrub the blood out of each seam.

He’s almost finished when he notices the corner of a white cardboard box on the floor, poking out from underneath the front passenger seat. He frowns and reaches down, having to strain slightly to pull it out. Climbing back out of the car, he sets the box on top of the Impala’s trunk and breaks the little tape seal holding it shut. When he opens it, Cas begins to sob again, feeling like a knife is running through the base of his throat. 

It’s a peanut butter and jelly cheesecake.

 _I knew you’d like it_ , Dean’s voice ghosts in the back of his head. It’s not real, but Cas doesn’t care.

* * *

Sam and Cas still live in the bunker, but it hardly feels like home once Dean is gone. Eileen moves in officially, which helps to fill the void a little bit. Mostly, it helps Sam. Cas still finds himself going to sleep most nights with a chill in his stomach and a lump in his throat. His bed, far too small for two people to sleep comfortably, is now entirely too big. Like an ocean he could drown in.

Part of Cas – a big part – considers killing himself quickly. He’s human now, so it should be easy. Humans are breakable and susceptible to any number of deaths. His soul will go to Heaven where he’ll relive his best memories, and he knows he’ll be with Dean. 

But the thing that stops him is Dean’s voice, because he knows that Dean would never forgive him for doing something so stupid. Cas has to stay, not just for Sam but for all the fights that they’ve dedicated their lives to. All the things that go bump in the night, all the people that wouldn’t get saved if Cas wasn’t there to save them.

So Cas stays. He lives.

In the mornings, Cas still makes breakfast for himself, Sam, and Eileen, and then walks the dog. With Miracle in tow, he meanders through the wooded roads surrounding the bunker, witnessing the changing of the seasons as months tick by. The first colorless winter is the hardest.

Cas continues to hunt, as do Sam and Eileen. Years drag by in little more than a blink. Cas gradually learns sign language, which helps on cases so that they can all communicate silently, but most importantly it means that Cas and Eileen can make teasing jokes about Sam when his back is turned. They still have movie nights and game nights, and other hunters breeze through the bunker in search of help or a place to lay their head for a while. It takes a long time, but Cas does manage to smile and laugh and have fun in the small moments, because he knows some days that’s all that’s keeping the grief at bay.

Two years, three months, and seventeen days after Dean’s funeral, it’s an early autumn afternoon and Cas is sitting at a picnic table outside of a roadside burger joint outside of Norfolk, Nebraska along Route 88. Miracle is laying in the grass at his feet, enjoying the extra burger patty that Cas bought him. Jody sits across from him, having come by to see him without all the girls in tow. She’s beaming with pride as she gushes about them – about Alex finishing nursing school, Patience getting her master's degree, and Claire moving to Omaha with Kaia.

“I’m not really sure if Patience’s psychic visions count as cheating on exams, but…” Jody tilts her head, chuckling. “In any case, she’s doing well.”

Cas wipes his mouth with a napkin. He’s nearly finished with his food already, since Jody’s been doing almost all the talking. “And Claire? She’s happy in Omaha?”

Jody smiles. She knows that he has a particular attachment to Claire, a more profound history. “She’s very happy, Cas. And, you know, she’s close by. You could always go visit her.”

He doesn’t reply honestly. He doesn’t say that he’s overjoyed that Claire is making a good life for herself, or that seeing her is always hard because he knows what he took from her. He doesn’t say that he doesn’t want to intrude on her time exploring independence and adulthood, or her time with Kaia. He doesn’t say that he misses her. Instead, he just nods and says, “Maybe.”

Jody puts her burger down on the paper plate, then leans on her elbows with her hands clasped on the wooden tabletop. “How are you doing, Cas?”

“I’m fine, Jody. As well as can be expected.”

Jody studies him, scrutinizing him like a mother. She knows he’s not telling her everything. He meets her gaze evenly; he doesn’t care that she knows he’s lying.

“God, you’re just like Dean,” she says with a shake of her head.

That throws him off guard, and he’s sure it shows in his face.

She reaches across the table and lays her hand over his. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it,” she says. “But I know better than most that grief doesn’t go away, and I know that _not_ talking about it is usually worse than the alternative.”

Cas sighs, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“I’m just going to say this,” Jody continues. “You are _always_ welcome to come to Sioux Falls and see me. If you need a place to talk, to get away, or if you just need a home-cooked meal.”

He gives her a genuine smile, feeling secure in the fact that she loves and cares for him. “I know. Thank you, Jody. I’ll take you up on it someday, I promise.” But today is not that day, and Cas bids Jody goodbye with a hug before beckoning Miracle back to the car.

Driving back to Lebanon, Cas has the windows rolled down and he breathes deeply, intentionally. Music loudly plays on the radio and his thumbs drum along in time on the steering wheel. The sun is beginning to set, the sky streaked with brilliant pinks and oranges and purples rippling across the clouds. Miracle sits on the passenger seat watching the traffic go by as Cas idly scratches his ears.

Cas’s phone rings. He switches off the radio and fishes the phone out of his pocket without taking his eyes off the road. “Hello?”

“ _Cas?_ ”

“Hello, Sam.”

“ _Hey. It’s time._ ”

Cas’s heart skips, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Where are you?”

“ _Salina._ ”

“I’m on my way.” Cas quickly ends the call, tossing his phone into the center console, and presses his foot to the accelerator.

It takes an hour and a half after he hangs up to reach the bunker to drop off Miracle, and Cas rushes to fill the dog’s food bowl for dinner before he runs back out the door and to the car. Then, it takes another two hours to reach Salina. Cas pulls his car into the parking garage of the hospital and quickly walks through the entrance. The receptionist points him in the right direction.

Finally, he approaches the nurses station on the third floor and speaks to a plump woman in violet scrubs. “Hi, I’m looking for Sam Winchester and—”

“Oh, are you Cas?” she asks.

He nods. “Yes, that’s me.”

She smiles. “Mr. Winchester said you’d be coming in. I can’t let you into the room right now, but you can have a seat.” She points to a sitting area in the corner, with old magazines arranged neatly in a rack between a water cooler and a coin-operated Keurig machine.

Cas doesn’t sit. He paces with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, alternating between watching the clock and staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the town sprawling below and the moon rising in the night sky. He drinks several too-small cups of coffee, the empty paper cups piling up in the little trash can by the machine. The lights of Salina wink against the dark outside, and the fluorescent lighting in the hospital dims to a calming glow.

Just before midnight, Cas hears his name called and turns to see Sam coming down the corridor.

“Sam!” he says, striding quickly out of the sitting area.

Sam is grinning from ear to ear, shaking with excitement, and he slams into Cas with a hug that knocks Cas back on his heels. He leads Cas down the hall, around the corner, and into a well-lit warm room where Eileen is sitting up in the bed, a bundle of blankets in her arms. She’s still flushed and sweaty and her hair’s a mess, and she’s utterly lovely. She beams when Cas follows Sam into the room.

Sam leans over and kisses her forehead, then gently lifts the bundle from her arms. “Cas,” he says, his chest swelling with pride. “Meet your godson.”

Cas is completely in awe. A little face peers out at him from the blankets and tiny hat, with big, dark eyes like Eileen’s. The baby isn’t crying or squirming, but instead is resting perfectly calm in the crook of Sam’s arm, studying Cas’s face like an astronomer watching the stars.

“Hello,” Cas whispers, daring to reach up and lightly touch the baby’s chest with two fingers. He can feel the small, short breaths that are still unfamiliar and unpracticed.

“His name is Dean,” Eileen says. Sam places his free hand on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas can’t take his eyes off the baby’s face, but tears blur his vision. “Really?” he asks, smiling as a tidal wave of joy surges up inside him. The baby wraps his tiny, _tiny_ fingers around the tip of Cas’s thumb. “Oh…” Cas sighs. “He’s beautiful.”

This, Cas decides, is what he’s staying alive for.

It’s even later in the night, so late that the hospital cafeteria has started serving breakfast, when Cas and Sam find themselves sitting on a bench outside underneath the stars. Eileen is getting some well-earned sleep with Dean in the bassinet beside her, and the sky over the horizon is just beginning to lighten.

“Cas, I can’t hunt anymore.”

The statement comes out of nowhere, but Cas still is not surprised. He takes a sip of coffee from the to-go cup in his hand.

Sam mistakes his silence for anger or disappointment, and tries to explain. “I… I want to give Dean a normal life,” he says. “As normal as possible. And if anything happens to me or Eileen…” Sam shakes his head. “I’m not willing to risk that.”

Cas still doesn’t reply for a minute. When he does speak, it’s only two words. “I know.”

Sam frowns at him. “You know?”

Cas leans back on the bench, resting his coffee on the wood slats beside him. “You never wanted to raise a child in the hunter’s life. With Jack, there wasn’t a choice. With Dean, there is. I’ve known you were going to quit hunting since you told me Eileen was expecting.”

A huff of relief leaves Sam’s chest, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You did, huh?”

“You are an excellent father,” Cas says. “I can’t say that I won’t miss hunting with you, and with Eileen. But you’re doing the right thing for your family. And I am proud of you.”

A shadow of sorrow flits over Sam’s face. “You could quit too, you know.”

Cas smiles at the sky. “No. No, I couldn’t.”

Despite knowing it was coming, the day that Eileen, Sam, and Dean leave the bunker arrives much sooner than Cas expected. Dean is only three months old when Sam and Eileen buy a small house outside of Kansas City and begin moving their things out. Cas helps, and he is truly happy for them, but it’s still hard. He reminds himself that Kansas City really isn’t that far from Lebanon.

Sam and Eileen keep Miracle, at Cas’s insistence. Sam protests, shaking his head vigorously. “No, Cas, you need to keep him,” he argues.

“We don’t want you to be alone,” Eileen adds, her index finger turned upward and pressed to her heart. But Cas won’t hear it.

“He deserves to live with a family. With children. And a house with a yard.”

Sam swallows and finally nods, taking Miracle’s leash from Cas’s hand. “Come with us,” he says, fighting tears. “You don’t have to live here, Cas. I know that this place is painful for you.”

Cas sighs, looking up at the high ceilings, and a smile drifts over his face. “This is my home. I could never leave, even if I wanted to.”

Understanding clears the confusion and sorrow from Sam’s face, and Cas is relieved that he doesn’t have to explain further. He doesn’t have to explain that yes, being here on the bad days hurts more than he can describe, but that this is also where he spent every one of his best days, his _happiest_ days. He can feel Dean’s presence in the very woodwork of the bunker. Leaving is not an option.

“Fine,” Sam relents with a falsely light smile. “But you’re keeping the car.”

“Sam, there are plenty of cars for me to use in the garage—”

“She’s a hunter’s car. She needs to be with a hunter.”

Cas reluctantly agrees, and as soon as he does it feels right. He tells himself that he’s not keeping the Impala for selfish reasons, that it’s only because it’s not a good car for a new family with a baby.

Sam and Eileen each give Cas long hugs, and then they leave carrying Dean and the last of their belongings. Miracle trots up the stairs after them. Once the door closes, Cas stands alone in the library for a long time, listening to the quiet. He knows he will still see them frequently, since their new home is only a few hours’ drive. But he also knows that everything has changed, and it will be a big adjustment.

He feels good, spurred on by the knowledge that Sam and Eileen are embarking on a massive challenge of their own. He’s ready.

* * *

Though Cas is the only permanent resident in the bunker, it’s still a haven for hunters and he never finds himself alone for very long before new company shows up. Strangers and familiar faces alike, whether they’re looking for lore or occult objects or just a place to have a beer. The bunker is no longer a secret, and hunters turn up from all across the continent. Once, a hunter from Guatemala stays for the night on her way north. “Tracking the migration pattern of the chupacabra,” she explains over a glass of whiskey. 

Cas hunts, too, mostly by himself but working with other hunters as the opportunities present. He racks up kills quickly and efficiently, and understands what Sam and Dean had meant when they described their early hunting life as “pest control”. He keeps the Impala in excellent shape, and he keeps the bunker in good shape too. He has plenty to do.

He sees Sam and Eileen a few times every month, and talks on the phone more frequently. He goes to their house for birthdays and holidays and anniversaries, and he watches Dean sprout from infant to toddler to child. He’s there for Dean’s first steps, his first word, his first run. Cas helps to take care of him when he’s sick, and when Sam and Eileen just need some time to themselves.

On the days when he has no visitors and nothing to kill, he plays cassette tapes from Dean’s outdated collection and dances in the kitchen while he makes dinner for himself.

It’s a warm evening in June when Claire appears at the bunker entrance. She’s now well into her twenties – a gorgeous, fully established adult. Cas is ecstatic to see her, and ushers her inside. They sit in the library with a pile of Chinese takeout, chatting about their lives and laughing together as they work their way through a six pack.

“So how old is Dean now?” Claire asks as she finishes her third bottle.

“He just finished kindergarten last week,” Cas says fondly, cracking open a fortune cookie. _Something good is coming your way!_ the cookie tells him.

“Wow.” Claire looks up at the ceiling, then leans back and props her feet up on the empty chair beside her. “Time flies, huh?”

“Yes, it does.” Cas clears his throat and straightens. “Another beer?”

Claire shakes her head. “No, no, I’m good. I actually wanted to ask a favor.”

Cas, about to stand and collect the empty bottles for the trash, sits still again. “Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m on my way to Denver,” she says, tugging on a strand of hair by her ear. “Some reports of bodies turning up with their blood drained. Think it might be vampires.”

“You need help hunting them?” Cas is slightly confused. There’s no reason that Claire should feel hesitant about asking him for help on a hunt.

Claire lets out a breath. “I just… I know Dean went down hunting a vamp nest and I didn’t want to make you do something that was… triggering, I guess.” She shrugs. “Donna’s already on her way to Denver to meet me there, so if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Cas is touched by her concern, but vampires are not what worries him. “I’ll be fine,” he insists. “I say we get some sleep, and then we can head to Denver first thing.”

“Deal.” Claire is visibly happy that he’s agreed, and Cas loves that she thought to ask for his help.

In the morning, Cas sits in the passenger seat of Claire’s 1993 Fox Body Mustang as she drives away from the bunker. He’s pulled everything he needs for a vamp hunt from the Impala’s trunk and stashed it in the Mustang’s – there’s no reason for three hunters to use three vehicles and he knows that either Claire or Donna will be more than happy to give him a ride back to Lebanon afterwards. The Mustang is small and tough, a vicious terrier, and Claire laughs at him when he has to move the seat all the way back for adequate leg room.

They meet Donna in Denver and visit the coroner’s office to find that there have been six bodies discovered over the course of a few months. The Denver police think it’s the work of a serial killer, or maybe a local cult. When the coroner yanks the sheet back from one of the corpses, Donna winces.

“Oofta.”

“Obviously, this is how the blood was drained,” says the coroner flatly.

The corpse has a massive cavity in its chest, a hole torn straight through skin and muscle and ribs, leaving what little is left of the internal organs exposed. There are more wounds covering the body – gashes all over the limbs and lower abdomen, and a deep laceration all the way through the left cheek, exposing the molars.

“Heart missing?” asks Claire, glancing at Cas. She’s unbothered by the gore, but instead is confused as to why a vampire victim would be missing their heart.

The coroner nods, and gestures to the wall of cadaver drawers. “I got five more bodies that look just like this one. Normally, I’d say this was an animal attack, but the only animals we have in downtown Denver are squirrels and the occasional stray cat.”

“Yeah, this is a weird one,” Donna agrees, looking genuinely rattled.

As soon as they’re back outside in the sun, away from prying non-hunter ears and heading back to the car, Cas speaks up. “I think I know what it is.”

Cas recalls a case that Sam and Dean worked in Oregon ages ago. By now it’s been at least ten years, but Cas remembers the details. Creatures that eat hearts _and_ drain blood, and when newly-turned don’t hide the bodies well.

 _A ghoul-pire!_ Dean’s voice echoes in the back of Cas’s head. _Come on, say it with me!_

“I think it’s a Nachzehrer. Rather, a group of them.”

Donna shrugs her business-suit jacket off her shoulders. “Well, okey dokey, then. How do we kill ‘em?”

When Cas explains that they have to stick a penny in the alpha’s mouth before beheading it, both Claire and Donna think he’s joking.

They find the Nachzehrer nest two days later in a condemned ten-story factory building in an industrial area of Denver – the closest thing to an isolated cave or abandoned farm to be found in the city. They’ve stopped at a bank for some change and are now armed with pennies and machetes. They have no way of knowing which Nachzehrer is the alpha, so they’re going to take a trial-and-error approach.

“Remember, shooting them will slow them down,” Cas says as they sneak into the building.

The nest is small – only four Nachzehrers. While the others run deeper into the building, one attacks, going for Claire with razor teeth and claws. She shoots it in the forehead, and once it hits the floor Cas quickly shoves a penny into its mouth and chops its head off before it can wake back up. Donna is already running for the stairs at the back of the building with her machete in hand, so Cas and Claire follow suit.

They chase the rest of the pack all the way to the roof and run out of the service door into the blinding sunlight. The three remaining Nachzehrers are crouched with their teeth bared, ready to defend their territory.

“Alrighty, then,” says Donna eagerly. She’s wearing a savage grin as she flips her machete threateningly. “One for each of us. Nice and easy.”

Claire takes on the smallest, a wiry short-statured female who moves quicker than the other two. Donna goes for the giant of the three, a male at least two heads higher than her. The last is another female who’s tall and muscled like a blacksmith, and she’s looking at Cas like she’s picking out which body part she wants to eat first. The three Nachzehrers attack in unison.

Cas is forced to focus solely on the creature launching herself at him, and all he can do is hope that Donna and Claire can hold their own. He swings his machete at the Nachzehrer but she leaps deftly out of the way and slices her claws into the side of his neck, making him yell in pain. He pulls out his gun to try and slow her and she sinks her teeth into his forearm, forcing him to drop the gun. In the same instant, he swings his blade under his left arm with his right and manages to catch her in the side.

She screams like an angry puma, retreating and clutching her flank where he’s split her open. The retreat only lasts a minute, however, and she lunges at him again. Cas is knocked off his feet and slams into the concrete roof with her on top of him, huge jagged teeth gnashing mere inches from his nose. He scrambles to keep her from literally biting his face off, and sees out of the corner of his eye that his machete has clattered several feet away, toward the edge of the roof.

Gritting his teeth, Cas seizes her and rolls once, twice, three times, and comes to a stop with her underneath him. He grabs the machete and is about to bring it down on her neck when she twists and kicks him off with impressive strength. In the half-second before she attacks him again, he sees that Donna’s already killed the male and she and Claire are still working on the other female, coming at her from both sides.

The Nachzehrer in front of Cas, however, is showing no signs of slowing down. He rams the machete into her stomach to the hilt, which pierces all the way through her and comes out the other side. She screams, a high-pitched unearthly noise vibrating out through her dual-pointed teeth. The motion of her pulling backward wrenches the handle of the machete out of Cas’s hand.

Back on his feet, Cas leaps at her again, desperately trying to regain his hold on the machete while dodging her claws. He finally grasps the hilt solidly and yanks as hard as he can – it comes free with a disgusting squelch as her claws rake through his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his shirt and his flesh beneath it.

And suddenly, he’s looking down the barrel of his own gun.

Somehow, she’d grabbed the gun from where he dropped it, and he hadn’t noticed. Stupid, stupid, rookie mistake.

She’s panting, hissing through her giant serrated teeth, and bleeding from the two massive wounds in her torso. Wounds that would have killed almost anything else. Cas feels the searing sting of his own injuries – the lacerations in his neck and shoulder, the bite mark on his arm – and he backs up as she inches closer.

Over her shoulder, he can see Claire and Donna at last sawing the head off the smaller female. The Nachzehrer who’s holding him at gunpoint doesn’t change, doesn’t transform back into a human, which means she’s the alpha of the nest. She advances again, making him back up further, until the heel of his boot hits the lower concrete barrier along the very edge of the roof.

She clicks the hammer of the gun, her eyes flashing in the sunlight.

Claire appears from behind, slamming a fistful of pennies into the alpha’s mouth. The hit makes the alpha’s hand squeeze reflexively, a single gunshot echoing out over the industrial sprawl ten stories below them. Cas flinches at the noise, and in the same instant Donna removes the alpha’s head from her shoulders. The Nachzehrer’s body falls unceremoniously, blood splattering out from her gaping neck and turning the concrete crimson.

Cas lets out a huff of relief, feeling dizzy. “Thanks,” he says. “Are you both okay?”

Donna stops short, her victorious grin fading. Claire is staring at him, eyes wide, her expression melting from ferocity to terror.

“Cas!” Claire shrieks.

Cas frowns in confusion. “What—?” It’s at that moment that he realizes that his chest hurts, inside and outside, and it’s radiating outward. He looks down and sees a small bullet hole, just to the left of his breastbone. A red poppy blossoming in the fabric of his shirt. “...Oh.”

The edges of his vision blur as lightheadedness sweeps in. He can feel his legs about to give out, but there’s no time to do anything about it.

Claire runs toward him, crying his name and reaching for him. His knees buckle before she can get to him, and he tips backwards. The last thing he sees is her face, and then he tumbles over the edge of the roof and falls into empty space. The last thing he hears is her screaming.

* * *

Cas feels no pain when he hits the ground. He doesn’t feel his bones snap into unfixable angles, or his insides as they’re destroyed by sheer gravity. He doesn’t feel anything.

Somehow, it’s both a short and very, very long time before he finds himself standing a few yards away from his own body. Everything is peaceful and quiet.

“I wasn’t expecting you to die so soon,” says a voice to his left.

Cas turns, and joy bursts forth from his chest so intensely that he’s sure he’s glowing. Jack is standing beside him, as youthful as the day he left. “Jack!” Cas cries, and engulfs him in a hug.

Jack returns the embrace, smiling into Cas’s shoulder. 

Cas doesn’t see Claire and Donna running out of the building behind him. He doesn’t hear Claire screaming, or Donna trying to comfort her. He doesn’t see the halo of blood around his head, or the feathered splashes from underneath him.

“It’s time to go, Castiel,” Jack says, standing back with his hand on Cas’s chest.

Cas swallows. He knows it’s time. He feels ready. “What about them?” he asks.

Jack looks past him to where Claire is sobbing into Donna’s arms. “They will be fine, just as you were.”

“Do you do this for everyone?” Cas has to ask, because he knows human souls find their way to their destination just fine without divine interference.

“No.” Jack shakes his head. “But you are my father.”

Cas blinks back tears. He’s not sad, not at all. He’s blissfully overwhelmed. And he’s missed Jack so, so much.

“Is there anything you’d like to do before you go?” Jack offers.

Cas draws a deep breath, though he feels no air in his lungs. “I’d like to see my family. Just for a minute.”

Jack nods once, and suddenly they’re in Sam and Eileen’s back yard outside of Kansas City. Sam, Eileen, and Dean are playing soccer together, laughing and running. They don’t know that Cas is dead; they haven’t gotten that call yet. Miracle, old and riddled with arthritis, lays contentedly on the porch as they play.

“They’ll be okay too,” Jack says, leaning against the fence behind where Cas is standing.

“I know.” Cas watches as Sam tumbles into the grass and Dean, already impossibly tall for his age, jumps on him. “I just wanted a memory to bring with me.”

They stand there for a few more minutes, until Cas finally straightens. A sublime calm spreads through him. He doesn’t have to tell Jack that he’s ready to leave. Jack knows. 

He presses two fingers to Cas’s forehead, and the fabric of this world rolls away.

When Cas opens his eyes again, he’s standing on the side of a road surrounded by towering coniferous forests. It’s the middle of the night and he’s beneath a solitary lamp post, the only one in sight. Overhead, the blackness glitters with the light of a million stars, the entire Milky Way splashed across the skies above. To the east, the full moon is just rising from behind a distant mountain. The air here is crisp and sweet, heavy with pine.

He’s alone, but he’s not cold or frightened. And he doesn’t have to wait long.

A pair of headlights appears from around the bend, the familiar rumbling of the engine drawing closer as Cas’s heart begins to beat more quickly. He’d know this car anywhere.

The Impala pulls to a stop in front of him, and Dean – _his_ Dean – leans out of the driver’s window. “Need a ride?”

“Dean,” Cas says, a single broken syllable.

Dean gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him. He takes two steps, crossing the distance between them, and pulls Cas into a kiss. Cas clings to Dean’s shirt, his hands digging into his shoulder blades as Dean’s fingers wind through his hair. 

It feels just like their first kiss, all those years ago.

Dean is the one to come up for air first, pressing his forehead to Cas’s. “Took you long enough,” he whispers with Cas’s palm on his cheek.

Cas refuses to let go. Dean is _here_ and he’s solid under Cas’s touch for the first time in far, far too long.

“Come on,” Dean beckons. “Let’s get you home.”

Cas lets his head fall on Dean’s shoulder, in the crook of his neck, relishing in the warmth pulsing from Dean’s body. He’s not ready to leave this moment yet. “I want to stay here.”

Dean presses another reassuring kiss to Cas’s temple. “Hey,” he says softly, making Cas look up. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

The stars shimmer up above against the painted sky and the world around them is full of life, colorful even in the dark.

“Come on,” Dean says again, reaching for Cas’s hand. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
